War Party Time! On the Fury Road
by AllLovableObjects
Summary: A war party sets off to hunt the War Rig. A Gas Town boy is recruited to keep the flamethrower running. Crew OCs, Imperator OCs, Immortan Joe, Rictus Erectus.
1. Chapter 1

"Do you have a scarf?"

"A what?"

"A scarf." Imperator Jawbone gestured. "For your face."

The truck bounced and slowed. Gears grinded beneath them.

Pitchcat reached into the front of his jacket, unrolled the neck on his undershirt and put it over his nose.

"Nice." Jawbone pulled the zip right up on Pitchcat's jacket.

"Wait a sec." the boy Imperator produced a set of enormous, beaten goggles, and held them against the Gas Town boy's eyes. With one hand still up on Pitchcat's face, he turned and rummaged in a box behind them. He pulled out a small square piece of metal.

"What's that for?"

Jawbone didn't answer. Instead he produced a pair of pliers and started combining the goggles and the metal thing.

An enormous rig powered along next to them. As it swayed closer, the air thickened with vibration. Pitchcat's ears became useless. It changed gears and, for a moment, fire lit up everything orange.

Pitchcat bobbed his head about, trying to see around the tarp.

Jawbone didn't look up. He was winding a skinny piece of metal around the nose-strap of the goggles. The square thing was a kitchen spatula, and Jawbone was using the remains of the handle to attach it to the goggles.

Pitchcat unzipped his jacket and rolled his dust-collar down from his mouth.

Jawbone glanced up. He shook his head and waved his hand over his mouth. Pitchcat pulled the dust-collar back up.

Jawbone held the bizarre thing onto Pitchcat's face. He brought the Gas Towner's hand up to the buckle of the goggles, so he could feel how it worked as Jawbone fastened it. Next, Jawbone pulled the hood of Pitchcat's jacket over his head.

Finally, Jawbone tried to show him what the spatula mouthpiece was for. He held his index finger and thumb together, and repeatedly zipped his hand at Pitchcat's face.

Pitchcat shrugged and glared.

The big rig continued to roar right next to them.

The boy Imperator reached up and pulled his own bottom lip down. There was an ugly gap where two teeth were missing.

Now Pitchcat understood.

Nitro-boosted war-machines tended to fling rocks about. Bruises would heal, but teeth could not be replaced.

Pitchcat sat with the mask on. Jawbone squinted one eye, and made a picture frame with his hands. He signed thumbs up and grinned like a maniac.

Pitchcat laughed too and wondered what he looked like. He would ride into battle, on top of Jawbone's truck, wearing bits of junk.

Look around, he thought. Everyone is wearing junk.

* * *

Jawbone's gunner was off somewhere doing training drills. Pitchcat poked around in the gunner's storage space. There was a container of yoghurt. He relished it as the truck jolted, then stared for a while at the desert through a gap in the tarp.

Jawbone came down.

He pulled a spoon from its spot in the wall, dipped it in the yogurt and held it up to Pitchcat's face.

"Do you believe this? I have to spoon-feed these people."

He grinned, put the spoon in his mouth, turned and began clambering back up.

Suddenly he stopped, reached for a big metal square and gave it to Pitchcat. He tapped the top. Embossed on it was the skull and wheel.

Pitchcat glared. Jawbone waggled the spoon at him, repressed a laugh and almost spat it out as he went back up.

The metal thing was made of many thin plates, held together with a big ring through the corner.

Lifting the front one off, Pitchcat found a superb engraving of Immortan Joe. It was worked with countless, tiny, round punch marks. The Immortan leaned out the window of a hotrod, one arm stretched up to the sky. The sky was full of sharp marks that struck down to the ground.

He understood more when he flipped more plates. It was a book of signals, that a gunner would know. He went back to page one. It showed one basic signal, and its two combinations.

Shoot.

Shoot everything.

Shoot everything, no stopping.

* * *

Pitchcat was reading when there was a knock on the roof. He heard movement and shouting from outside of the truck.

He wound his way back. The rear tray of Jawbone's truck was enclosed by a giant metal rib cage, with the carved ribs pointing up, humming in the headwind.

There was movement behind.

Another small truck drove behind them, pushing a long trailer. Shielding his eyes from the glare, Pitchcat spotted someone crouching on the side, holding a chain.

He heard more shouts from the girl on the roof of Jawbone's truck. Something blurred against the sky. It was a long pole, swinging down at the rider on the trailer.

The boy worked intently with the links.

Thwuck! The pole swung down again and bounced off his head. The boy grabbed for it and it quickly retracted.

Pitchcat took a piece of cladding and leaned out from the tray, waving it at the boy.

A face peeked down over the tarp.

"Hey Pitchcat. They're giving us the kitty! Help me stop them."

There was a shower of rotten stuff.

The trailer was full to the top with slimy plant matter. The boy grabbed sods of it and tried to get it onto the girl on the roof. It fell apart and blew back in the headwind.

The boy saw Pitchcat and threw more of it. Using the covering fire, another boy got to the front of the trailer and unwound a chain from its rail.

"We don't want it!" the girl cried from above.

Behind the boys, an Imperator stood on the front of the truck, grinning. He turned around and unfurled a big red skull and wheel banner. The boys whooped and moved forward.

"Pitchcat!" The girl yelled.

Pitchcat put his goggles on, pulled his hood up and leaned out from the tray again, but the boys ignored him. There were shouts from far off.

Someone drove next to them, laughing and throwing things. Further behind, a huge, rusted road-train hurtled along. There was a whole troop of Warboys up top. They leapt with delight, doing hand-stands. Some grandly saluted the war god as the little invasion began.

One of the boys scooped a big clod of wet matter and tossed it into the tray of Jawbone's truck. There was a metallic banging sound from the pursuing truck as the Imperator jumped up and down on the bonnet.

Looking down, Pitchcat saw that, while he was distracted, the other boy must have quickly come forward and threaded a chain in behind the rear tray of Jawbone's truck, where the last ribs ran along.

The boys clipped more chains on, and used the starting one to pull five more out and back around Jawbone's truck frame. They spaced the chains out, and began securing them permanently to the kitty.

The girl on the roof had got the pole out again. She was sliding the chains around with her stick. It was hopeless. She cried out.

Pitchcat looked out at the trailer. He had an idea.

"Down here!" he shouted. "Pass the pole down." He took the pole and waved it out to the kitty.

The boys ignored it.

Pitchcat snagged a big mass of rotting vegetation and dragged it back onto the tray.

"Hey!" The girl cried from above. "What are you doing?"

He hauled the stinking stuff up and pushed it onto the roof. A shower of mould dust fell and coated his hood. It reeked. He yelled up "Take these!"

"No!"

"I need you to throw them in front of me. When I say four, throw one close. When I say six, throw one a bit further out."

The boys had moved to the front of the putrid kitty, tightening the chains and signalling the Imperator behind them. They had no idea what was coming.

"You're cleaning up here later."

Pitchcat stepped back a little and picked up the long, heavy piece of cladding. He steadied himself.

"Four!" he shouted.

He smashed a turnip into the front of the kitty, where it splattered onto the closest boy. The boy looked up and stared, wide eyed.

You should move, Pitchcat thought.

"Four!"

The next one caught the other boy square in the back. Rotten stuff exploded all over him.

"Six!"

On the truck bonnet, leaning over the kitty, the Imperator was signalling in a frenzy to the boys. The turnip buzzed hot over his shoulder. He quickly folded up the skull and wheel.

"Six!"

This one bounced off him and onto the windscreen. The little truck slowed and the boys started unclipping the chains.

There was a whoop from above. "Pitchcat! How are you doing that?"

His answer was "Six!"

He pasted the Imperator in the head.

He heard thumps from the cab of their pursuers. The driver was half standing and thumping for his life on the ceiling of his cab.

"Six!"

The girl had thrown down two stuck together and they spread across the whole windshield.

The thumping from the cab grew louder.

"Six!" That one detonated. The Imperator's jacket and head were wet with filth. The Imperator waved back as he diligently tried to clean the windshield for their driver.

The girl thumped the rail of the truck, bauling with laughter.

He shouted up. "Hey. Trust, OK!"

She was jumping on the roof.

"And don't throw those out. I'll come up and clean."

* * *

Pitchcat climbed to the top of Jawbone's truck.

"Hello. I'm your new flame tech. Pitchcat."

"Shh."

The girl had turned and was staring out to some trucks on the edge of the war party.

"I'm trying to work out what the news is."

He looked out. Their truck drove along at the edge of a rolling fleet of big rigs, dune buggies, and four-by-fours, all shining, mishmashed, motorized things that threw out gouts of flame.

Pitchcat followed the girl's gaze. He spotted Jawbone with some other Imperators. They were talking with some Gastown people, who stood in the trays of their work trucks.

A girl on one of the trucks looked up at him.

He asked the girl next to him who they were.

"I don't know. But there's an important vote coming up at tonight's council meeting that affects me." the girl said. "I've been waiting for days. If there is more big news they'll push my vote back again."

Pitchcat wasn't listening.

From far away, the girl on the Gastown work truck had shot him a quick plant sign. It was a small movement, that only a refinery plant lifer like him would see.

The sign was "disregard previous signal". Normally used to erase a mistake.

Extremely subtly, he shaped his body into "need more information".

The girl next to him was talking all the while, saying that Jawbone should be meeting with council members, not some random Gastowners.

A minute later, the Gastown girl gave him the same erase mistake sign again.

He watched, not comprehending.

The Imperators and Gastowners had started climbing back into their trucks. The Gastown girl moved to swing down.

Then she came back and signed him one last symbol.

It said "danger".

They watched as the little gathering broke up. The Gastown trucks slowed and dropped back into the distance.

"Sorry about that."

Standing on Jawbone's roof while it rocked back and forth, Jawbone's two crew-members looked each other over.

The girl beamed.

"Hey, that was great! They'll never try that trick again."

Pitchcat walked across the roof to the big mass of turnips.

He said, "Let's hit some more."

"No thanks. I've got work to do." She went forward to the hatch. Then she came back to Pitchcat, looking up sheepishly.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't introduce myself. I'm Cinder. I'm Jawbone's gaffer and second gunner."

"What's a gaffer?"

"I keep track of supplies. Keep everything in fighting order. Ask me anything and I can tell you where it is."

"Needlenose pliers."

Cinder fired back: "Middle metal can in the fine work tray, top shelf, second row passenger side in the front foot area!"

Pitchcat whistled.

"See. Everything in its spot."

Then Cinder turned and shouted out to the big rigs motoring along in the distance.

"And that's how it's done!"

Pitchcat thought of how Jawbone stumbled around, knocked things over, poured out boxes and went through the contents on the floor. Somehow Pitchcat doubted that the needlenose pliers were actually in the middle metal can, in the fine work tray, top shelf, second row passenger side, in the front foot area.

"Gotta go. Bye Pitchcat." She waved, then went forward and down through the hatch.

Pitchcat found a perch on the back of the roof, and began cleaning up the mould from the turnips.

* * *

Pitchcat was helping Jawbone carry a big load of jerry cans off a flatbed and onto Jawbone's truck. Each can was full to the brim with guzzoline. Both trucks swayed and jostled about. Finally the flatbed was empty and Pitchcat moved to jump across to Jawbone's truck.

Jawbone stopped him.

"Pitchcat."

Pitchcat looked up. There was another flatbed coming over, stacked with more jerry cans.

Jawbone held Pitchcat's arm. "It's all going through the pipes Pitch. Both loads."

He thought back to the Gastown girl's last sign. His breath caught in his throat.

What mission could possibly need that much fire?

"Jawbone." he said. "Where are we going?"

"Don't worry about it. All you have to do is keep it flowing into the gun."

Pitchcat looked at him.

"If it does get rough, you go in the trap, OK?"

Pitchcat nodded.

They waited for the flatbed to come over, then jumped onto it and they each picked up a jerry can. They were both struggling when Jawbone asked:

"What did you say to that Gastown girl?"

Pitchcat swung and rammed his container into the one that Jawbone was trying to carry.

"Damn you Jawbone."

"Come on Pitch. I saw everything. You got her details, right?"

Pitchcat just hauled his jerry can onto the tray of the truck.

"I wish I could sign. She's cute. You should go for it."

Jawbone carefully climbed over the skeletal fence of the flatbed and onto his truck, carrying the container. He put it down, came over to Pitchcat and crooned in his ear.

"Go for it. Go for it."

Pitchcat kicked Jawbone's container. The cap came off and guzzoline sloshed out. Jawbone grabbed the lid and flicked the sour-smelling stuff at Pitchcat.

Pitchcat lunged for the cap and they jumped around. The container fell over. Jawbone kicked it, it broke apart and they both started laughing. Jawbone hoisted another one over the rail. It burst and made a fan on the sand.

"Shouldn't we clean that up?" Pitchcat motioned to the sloshing tray floor.

"It'll evaporate." They stood and watched. Nothing happened.

Then, Jawbone grabbed Pitchcat as the Gastowner hooted, tried to bend him down, and attempted to use his head to mop it up.

* * *

Pitchcat remembered the day he'd first known. He'd stared in amazement at the hubcap in his crate. Then he'd thrown his grimy work shirt over it and carried it, back through the throngs of oil-spattered boys and men, to his dorm. Immediately he'd packed his things. He'd waited for so long with no answer. He'd collected countless forms, punched the plates as required, sent them out to the Citadel water plant, but they had always been denied, with no explanation. Like he was nothing. But now, the fierce eyes of Immortan Joe glared out at him from the military steel. Pitchcat would serve the living god, in a war party.

* * *

Cinder and Pitchcat went to the council meeting.

There was a small crowd sitting on several trailers, all hovering around an unusually large gargoyle that had once been a flatbed truck.

The trailer they were on had some space left.

Pitchcat vaulted over a row of attendees. Cinder slowly negotiated herself through.

From the middle of the big flatbed in the centre, the Imperators took turns making speeches.

Imperator Wheelhorse had complained about always having the kitty. Everyone would just drive by and throw their rotting things from a distance. It went all over his truck and he was constantly cleaning it. The vote to change went down.

Cinder was explaining the proceedings to Pitchcat.

A speech ended and the next Imperator strode into the centre.

"That's Zmeya."

Zmeya droned on.

Meanwhile, one of the Imperators sitting in the circle was holding a large, unwieldy car part. The man studied it intently.

"What's that?"

"That's the voting machine."

It was made from a gearbox. It had a little metal wheel on one end, and a gearstick coming out the side. Each Imperator would discreetly push the gearstick up or down for yes or no. When they passed it along, they would turn the wheel forward one tick, resetting the lever for the next Imperator. At any point during voting, the wheel could be read to show how many total votes had been entered. At the end, the voting machine was set on a crate in the middle and opened by a Warboy under close inspection. The inside showed the tally of yays and nays. Any Imperator could ask to look for themselves at the result.

The voting machine moved to the next Imperator.

Cinder watched it and went quiet.

The sun was low in the sky and Imperator Zmeya was still in the centre. His shadow arched across as he turned.

Zmeya's voice was rising.

"... most of them are good. But the people you are bringing here will not contribute. I am here today to suggest that we schedule a new vote. We must send away the ones we have already brought over."

The Imperator stalked about the circle.

"Who are they? Who knows them? Who knows their bloodlines?"

There were a few whoops from the crowd.

Pitchcat said to Cinder quietly. "Lets go."

"Send them back to Gastown! There are people there who can deal with them!"

There was applause. The Gastowners on the flatbed jumped up.

And saluted him.

"Cinder, please!"

"No Pitchcat! I want to watch my vote!"

"Please. Just walk out with me."

Cinder escorted him through the rows to the far end of the trailer and disappeared back into the crowd.

* * *

Pitchcat had gone straight over to play cricket with the Wheelhorse boys and the Gastowners on the scrap trailer.

It was just a big flatbed, completely spanned by a huge metal cage with mesh lining. The cricket net Imperator let them hit balls around in there. Sometimes, the Imperator himself would go to the crease. The Gastown pacers would just spring it up at his head.

The cricket net Imperator's truck was supposed to be for storing scrap metal but it was always completely empty. This made it the fastest rig in the war party. For emphasis, its bonnet included the blades of a jet engine.

Pitchcat had tired himself out at the nets and was back, asleep in the belly, when Jawbone climbed in.

He woke to kicking.

He faked loud, phlegmy snoring, then grabbed Jawbone's legs, holding his feet together. The truck swayed and Jawbone went down. Crates banged and crashed.

"OK I'm awake."

"Pitchcat. Remember "secret question"? I've got one for you."

Pitchcat sat up, serious.

"If you'd seen something really important, but knew that people could use it against you, would you tell someone?"

Pitchcat sighed loudly. Then he looked up. "I think I would."

Jawbone sat for a while. The only sound was the dull whirring of the motor. Some little exhaust flames danced, far off outside the window.

Finally, Jawbone shook his head.

"I want to tell you before I tell anyone else. But I can't. I'm going to spell the driver for a while. See you tomorrow."

He pottered around for a while at his bench.

Pitchcat felt he was in his dorm at the plant again, drifting off to sleep surrounded by his floormates.

Then Jawbone came back.

"Pitchcat. I almost forgot. We're taking out the Wretch truck tommorow. I got a vote in about you doing our gas tech for real. It got up! You're in!"

No reaction. Then Pitchcat pulled up the most disgusting, nasal snore, as loud as he could.

"Come on Pitchcat! This is going to be a blast!"

Pitchcat snored some more.

Jawbone laughed and kicked him.

"You're a jerk Pitch!"

Jawbone headed to the cab. The truck swerved a little, then Pitchcat could hear the driver climbing onto the roof.

He got up for a second and paced around the belly.

"Damn, Jaw!" he said, smiling to himself.

He rested up well for the flamethrower mission.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun rose hazily above some big rigs following in the distance. The rigs frowned as always.

Pitchcat was staring out from under the tarp when there was a thump on the back tray. A pole was banging on it, reaching over from the truck alongside.

It was Wheelhorse's boys. Even their Imperator, Wheelhorse himself, was hovering within earshot, while cleaning plant matter and broken containers from the rear tray of his truck.

Jawbone called back "Just ignore them! They can find out when it happens."

Pitchcat was thinking about the Gastown fuel tankers.

"Why don't they have escorts?"

"I guess they're off following Immortan Joe's flares. Like we all are."

Everyone competed for any chance of approval. Their ferocity increased wildly with the status of the particular higher-up. At the top, Immortan Joe could wave an arm, and thousands would drive off a cliff for the one chance they might survive, be richly rewarded by Him, and never have to starve again.

Two days ago, he had sent up some distress flares.

Every war party, in each army, had abandoned its station at his call. Now they all gradually drove together, amassing in his wake.

As for their own war party, they would do a little security work on the side.

"You should eat something." Jawbone gave Pitchcat a container of dried fruit, then disappeared behind the partition.

He came back out.

"And your rations for the operation."

He threw something at him.

It was a little, peeling leather bag. Inside were three rocks.

"I'll see you after."

Pitchcat crept out to the back tray and lunged for the pole. He tied the bag on and the boys fell over laughing.

* * *

The day's work had begun.

Cinder was in the driver's cab.

Pitchcat stood on the ladder, peeking out through the hatch.

He looked out at the Wretched truck that had been stalking the Gastown tankers.

The Wretched were just desperate people who lived under Immortan Joe's rule but didn't belong to a war party. They had even less food than the war parties.

These ones had a long flatbed truck crowded with many people. Anything that came close they could surge onto and take over. Its cab was heavily armoured.

There were also two Gastown work trucks that the Wretched had commandeered.

The Imperators on their trucks were signalling to each other, and sending motorcycles back and forth to the Gastown tankers.

And they all rolled along together through the desert.

As Jawbone had instructed him, Pitchcat went down to the belly, and stood where the Imperator had indicated. It was close to Pitchcat's bed roll. Directly under the gunner's turret, where he could hear any thumps on the roof from the gunner, which meant that he would have to come up and fix the pipes.

An hour passed.

Pitchcat still stood in the belly, his ear craned up to the ceiling, staring at a page in the Immortan's signal book.

There was a single, soft, almost imaginary thump on the roof directly above him. He dashed to the ladder, sprung open the hatch and jumped up onto the roof.

Peering into the turret, he saw their gunner, slumped in a puddle of guzzoline, his head on the floor.

"Oh my god!" he cried out.

His hands started to shake.

Pitchcat quickly stripped the cladding off the turret. He stood for a few minutes, waving a panel of cladding up and down inside.

Finally, he entered and, using a blanket, sopped off as much guzzoline as he could from the gunner's head and chest. He got another one and did it again. Then he lifted the gunner's shoulders and dragged him to the back of the truck, away from the turret.

The gunner opened his eyes and rolled them, dazed. Pitchcat left him in recovery position, mopped up the guzzoline, then climbed into the open turret.

The wind whipped around him.

A small boy Pitchcat's age stood on the big rig next to them. He was signalling to Pitchcat.

He was the big rig's Imperator.

On every truck, motorcycle, rig and tanker, faces were gaping at Pitchcat.

Pitchcat froze completely.

He had no idea what to do.

The Imperator on the rig repeated the sequence. He could make out "Shoot".

They were coming closer to the Wretched flatbed.

And the flatbed was coming closer to the tankers.

Pitchcat almost jumped down to bring Cinder up.

Stupid. Trucks don't drive themselves.

What do I do? he thought.

The Imperator spoke to someone else in the tray. They signalled behind them and a motorcycle dashed off in the direction of the fuel tankers.

Pitchcat stood and stared like an idiot.

The tankers began to change their formation and flames buzzed out from their exhaust pipes as they tried to accelerate away from the flatbed.

There was a gulf in his stomach.

Suddenly, a flash of movement on one of the tankers caught his attention.

Pitchcat looked out and saw a Gastowner was hailing him in plant signs. He instinctively signed "awaiting orders".

The Gastowner explained the plan, and Pitchcat signed back "I will perform".

The Gastowner climbed down. A big skull and wheel banner soared noisily out from the tanker. Noisemakers clacked and buzzed from the other tankers.

It was back on.

Cinder accelerated, and soon they were nearing the side of the flatbed.

Men with hooks and rifles jumped down and started running alongside the truck as it bumped along. The rest of the Wretched surged to the near side of the trailer.

From behind them, the Imperator signalled "shoot" and Pitchcat opened the throttle. The gun danced around and shot out a quarter-power flame. The men jumped back on the tray.

Cinder slowly approached the front of the rig. Then she accelerated to overtake. Fire burst from the little truck's twin exhaust pipes.

Pitchcat lurched to the rear and the gun jerked up.

He grabbed the handle again and kept its nozzle pointed toward the cab as Cinder slowly angled in, getting Jawbone's truck in a straight line ahead of the giant flatbed.

Then Cinder held a constant distance in front of the cab. Pitchcat kept the trigger up. The cab of the flatbed was well out of range of his quarter-power flame.

They kept driving. The flatbed was accelerating toward the tankers and Cinder matched the speed.

There was no signal.

They got closer to the fuel tankers.

Soon, it seemed, the tankers would be threatened by a swarm of people from the flatbed.

Some figures on the tankers laid down and started to set up their long guns.

Finally the Imperator signed "shoot everything, no stopping".

Pitchcat turned the wheel to the max, then pumped the lever. The flame flew out at full power. The gun whirred, deafeningly loud. At the same instant, there were shots from the tankers and a spray of little flecks appeared on the narrow strip of windscreen.

Fire poured onto everything.

After a while, the truck started to sway. Pitchcat struggled to keep the flame on the windshield.

Finally, the driver jumped out, his grey hair smoking, and leapt onto the flatbed where some women rolled a blanket on him. Driverless, the truck slowed.

Pitchcat looked around. Everyone was cheering, signing "no stopping".

It had been a success.

The shots had dislodged the bulletproof windscreen enough to let some of the burning guzzoline in. They needed to come at exactly the same time as the flame, or the driver would have pulled the cladding on the windscreen up.

The flamethrower continued to roar.

Some Gastowners on the fuel trucks started a cricket chant. It made Pitchcat's heart leap.

He moved the flame around and wildly shouted out the words. He stretched his free arm up into the air above his head, slowly rocking down and back up. Rapturously pushing the sky down onto the burning cab.

As the flatbed stopped, so did everyone else, including all of the Gastowners' big fuel tankers.

Pitchcat kept the deluge going.

With his hand still on the lever, he turned back.

The big rig's little Imperator kept signalling "no stopping", jumping up and down on the deck of his truck for emphasis.

On a tanker, he saw Jawbone and his driver holding some long guns over their heads, barrels to the sky. They and the other snipers rocked back and forth in unison to the chant, and the waving arms of the Gastowners.

Burning guzzoline kept pouring out onto the cab. The bonnet had started to blacken.

Pitchcat was leaping about in the turret when a fuel tank exploded.

The whole crowd erupted into cheers as bits of burning metal soared and rained down.

Finally, the gas tank ran out and he let go of the lever.

It felt like the best day of his life.

* * *

Jawbone had found Pitchcat in the belly and asked him many questions about what happened in the turret.

They had spoken for an hour.

As Jawbone moved to go, Pitchcat stopped him.

"You can get it right?"

"No problem. Make a big list of everything you might possibly need, and I'll make sure it's taken to a vote at the next council meeting." He waved his arm and stepped away.

Pitchcat stood up.

"Jawbone. You have to get it right now. That guzzoline was bad. We're afraid to put the cladding back on. The gunner almost died. We can't use your tank. I can't even clean the gun with that stuff."

"OK. I'll get it done." the boy Imperator turned again and stumbled slowly off to his bench.

Pitchcat heard a subtle creak as Jawbone sat down behind the screen. The truck hit a rough patch, the driver changed gears, and things quietly vibrated. When the noise had died down, a voice floated through the partition.

"You're a good tech Pitch."

Pitchcat went up to see the gunner.

An hour later, he came back down and saw an enormous tank of guzzoline.

It was twice his height.

It took up his whole space, blocked off most of the way through the truck, and all of the daylight. His bedroll was neatly made up on top. He would barely fit between the tank and the ceiling. Two big pipes curled out the window.

As he moved over to it, he realized that the truck was listing slightly.

He hadn't even seen the flatbed.

Jawbone had drizzled some of the guzzoline on his pillow. Pitchcat could immediately tell that it was incredibly high quality guzzoline. He had never smelt anything like it.

He cursed, threw out his pillow, pulled the needlenose pliers from the pillowcase, and went around the tank.

Then, suspiciously, he came back.

Pitchcat climbed up to his bedroll.

It looked funny.

He ripped the cover off and stared. The piece of cladding he had used to hit the turnips at Wheelhorse and his boys was stuffed in his bedroll. The edges had been skillfully shaped, and leather wound around the narrow part.

It was now a perfect cricket bat.

The chair behind the partition creaked.

Pitchcat said nothing. He slid across the tank, found a cap that opened, pulled out a hose from his work overalls, and siphoned off some of the guzzoline into a small container.

He went back up to clean out the gun.

* * *

Far down in the bowels of his plant in Gastown, Pitchcat had been taught the many ways of cleaning metal surfaces. Some were more difficult than others. All of the pipes and buildings were covered in tar. It was the task of the plant lifers to periodically try to remove it. Sometimes, Pitchcat would clean a whole section, and imagine what the plant would look like without the tar. In his mind's eye, it shone like the sun. But no-one saluted his work any more. Because nowadays, they saluted other things.

* * *

Columns of haze floated up from the far-off rigs. Their banners were still out and they streamed into the headwind.

Pitchcat was sitting on the cab of the cricket net Imperator's truck as it swayed, watching a boy and girl batting in the nets. From far across on the mesh, a metal death's-head sculpture watched them too.

The Wheelhorse boys climbed up to him.

"That was shine today."

"We went and bartered some stuff with the Wretched people. You should come back and help us go through what we got."

The other boy grinned. "Yeah. After you fix their truck back up."

Pitchcat snorted. The older boy sat down next to him.

"I know why Immortan Joe sent up the flares."

Pitchcat stared. "Why?"

"He's chasing a rig. He wants it back. And whoever's inside it."

Pitchcat thought of all the armies on the road.

"Everyone wants to be the one who gets it back for him."

The picture of Immortan Joe in the book was on his mind. He didn't look like he was going to reward anyone for anything.

The boy in the net was teaching the girl how to bat. He had been letting her swing for a while, but now he decided to show her how it was really done.

He strode down to the crease.

The girl lobbed the ball.

And Pitchcat thumped his fist down, again and again, on the top of the cab.

It was the universal signal to accelerate.

As the ball came down, the exhaust pipes lit up, and the rig leapt forward.

Mid-swing, the boy went over and landed on his face.

The acclaim was unanimous. The girl clapped and one of Wheelhorse's boys yelled down "Show us an attacking shot!"

The boy put his finger up.

Pitchcat's response was to unbolt a piece of cladding and fling it onto him. He threw it back at Pitchcat and it went off the side.

Later, the boys climbed off and went back to Wheelhorse's truck. They clambered down into the belly to visit the Imperator.

He was working on a new clay pot.

The smooth, fine clay was painstakingly stippled and bound by perfect lines.

He had a tiny brush and was slowly painting up its raised edges, superbly highlighting the delicate terraces and whorls that spread over its surface.

Similar pots of all sizes lined his shelves, held in by custom brackets.

Pitchcat was amazed. It looked like a lost city from a fantastic tale.

They went out the back and crossed onto the kitty.

The containers they had got from the Wretched were full of rotting stuff. They stood in the kitty, pouring it out. They sorted the good containers from the damaged ones.

Jawbone waved from the roof of his truck.

He signalled "shoot".

Pitcat picked up his cricket bat. The younger boy threw up a container and Pitchcat smashed it into the back of Wheelhorse's truck.

The boys snickered.

Jawbone signalled "shoot everything".

Pitchcat lifted up the whole crate of broken containers and hurled it at the truck.

It exploded. Bits of metal, mould and wet vegetation fanned out across the tray and the rear door.

The three boys were laughing and rolling around in the kitty.

Jawbone whooped and jumped up and down on his truck. He crudely signed Pitchcat, using the very sparse plant signs that he could still remember.

It was the salute "Hail superior / I respect your work."

* * *

Pitchcat worked his way over to Jawbone's truck and climbed onto the tray.

Pitchcat was hanging off a rib on Jawbone's truck, about to swing onto the tray, when he heard Cinder talking, repressed anger in her voice.

"I couldn't find the needle-nosed pliers today. They weren't in their spot. Where are they?"

Pitchcat stopped in his tracks, not wanting to go in but with nowhere else to go.

Jawbone answered quietly.

"They'll turn up."

"Things don't just "turn up". You never really care about anything. The truck is listing because of your stupid stunt."

"Lucinda..."

"No. Do you know they're taking our flame gun off tomorrow? The Elapid Imperator has been lecturing anyone who will listen about wasting resources."

"There's a vote tonight. It could go either way."

"Jawbone! Listen to yourself! We're just battle fodder to them and you know it. This one isn't going to fix itself."

There was silence.

"Have you told Pitchcat?"

"No, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything either."

"And when they take the gun away tomorrow, what will you tell him then, Jawbone?"

"He's tough. He'll deal with it."

"That's not what I mean and you know it. He can't do anything else. There's people here. What will happen to him?"

"Cinder, don't worry about it. The vote will go down. I'm sure of it."

There was silence.

"I just think you're being a horrible friend."

"Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

"My vote. You remember it, right?

"Yes. Your vote is also tonight. I'll put my own vote up. There's another 25 voting Imperators, so it may not happen."

Footsteps shuffled about. There was a sound as a crate slid.

More shuffling. Another crate slid.

Meanwhile, Jawbone was striding around in the belly of his truck.

Finally, he spoke.

"Remember when we put all this together?"

The shuffling stopped.

"Jawbone, I..." Cinder sighed.

Pitchcat's arms were hurting. The sun was setting.

Finally Pitchcat heard Cinder climbing up onto the roof. He had to wait for an eternity before someone he knew came past, and then he could finally get off from Jawbone's truck and go anywhere else.

* * *

It was dark when Pitchcat finally slumped into the belly.

Jawbone came out from his bench. He could tell that something was wrong.

Pitchcat was staring at the ceiling.

"Pitchcat. No cricket tonight. You have to come with me to the council meeting. Elapid wants to talk to you."

"If you say his name again, I'll smash your face I swear."

"Oh. You know about the vote."

"Jawbone!" Pitchcat jumped up. "Where the hell can I go?!" he hissed. "Where?!"

"Look, this'll blow over."

"No, Jaw."

"Elapid said..."

Pitchcat punched him in the eye.

The impact made Jawbone drop to one knee. He put his hand up and checked for blood.

"Alright then." he readied himself and rubbed a bruise on his neck. "I still owe you for that turnip."

In two minutes the place was destroyed. The floor was a foot deep with engine parts. Nothing was in its spot.

Cinder tramped in, walked right past them, and climbed up to the roof.

Jawbone started picking up the parts and stacking them as best he could. The crates they had been in were all broken.

Pitchcat said "Tell me what you saw."

"OK. But it's very important that you don't tell anyone." Jawbone took a breath.

"They say that Immortan Joe is chasing after the War Rig. It belongs to Imperator Furiosa. She drives it, repairs it, shoots from it, everything. None of the crew even sees the inside of the cab. Or the engine. Or the sniper's boxes. Have you heard of it?"

Pitchcat nodded.

"I told you I work some nights in a blackthumb shed in the Citadel, right?"

He nodded again.

"All the elite rigs go through there. There's a list of who is next up, and the Imperators have almost no control over it. Anyway..."

He was interrupted by a thump on the side of the truck.

"I have to go. I'll tell you later."

Pitchcat glared.

"Come on Pitchcat. The Buzzard line is coming up. I have to go get our orders."

Pitchcat shook his head slowly.

"Come on. I'll find you at the nets tomorrow night, and tell you the whole thing. Promise."

Pitchcat finally looked up. "Jaw. I'm not used to being out here."

"I promise I'll find you. Do you accept?"

Pitchcat smiled and shrugged.

Jawbone held up his palm, pinky finger extended.

"I'm not pinky-swearing Jaw!"

"OK." Jawbone went to climb out. He leaned down and put his pinky finger up again.

"But don't make me come over there!"

Later, up on the tank, Pitchcat couldn't sleep. He worried about Elapid's vendetta against him, the council meeting, and whether Jawbone could stop them. He feared the call to order that had interrupted Jawbone. Because he knew that somewhere, out there, the Buzzard armies were waiting.

* * *

Jawbone sat at the council meeting. Everyone had oiled their leathers and shined their shoulder-spikes. The Elapid Imperator was next to him, enjoying the sumptuous fare.

And tonight, the Gastowners had brought some greens.

They grew them in sophisticated, controlled environments, but the amount produced was exceedingly small.

The baby tomatoes rolled around on his plate as the flatbed swayed.

"Oh, Jawbone, before I forget. Send my best wishes to your uncle."

Elapid continued.

"You were very fortunate that I and the coucil voted yes to your blue sky proposal to independently recruit your own gas technician from Gastown. Many people I have a lot of respect for were against it. None of them would change their minds."

Jawbone was thinking about the upcoming flamethrower vote. He wondered whether, despite the rhetoric, Elapid would really act against Jawbone's wishes.

Elapid usually took Jawbone's advice, especially when dealing with Jawbone's affairs.

This appeared to be changing.

If that were true, it would cause a lot of problems.

Zmeya was talking loudly nearby. He had hugged Elapid tightly, stepped back beaming, touched his ear, then roughly pushed past Jawbone.

Jawbone was glad he didn't bring Pitchcat.

Zmeya was arguing with some Gastowners.

"No. The People Eater is the problem. He's what's holding Gastown back. We need leadership."

Jawbone looked down to his lap under the table.

He boredly opened the little satchel Zmeya used to keep valuables.

There was nothing in it and he kicked it under the table.

He looked up forlornly as, in the dim firelight, the voting machine went round.


End file.
